


Variables

by Mixxy



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (he's a giant dork and Kevin loves it), Antonio the accountant, Basically Kevin can feel it when Cecil has sex, Coming Untouched, Fluff and Smut, Kevin-centric, M/M, Oddly fluffy for Desert Bluffs, Telepathic Sex, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 19:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1660016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixxy/pseuds/Mixxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To keep both sides of an equation equal, what is done to one side must also be done to the other.</p>
<p>A few months after the sandstorm, Kevin begins to feel strange things. Not entirely bad things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Variables

It first happens one day at the end of Kevin’s show.

He’s giving the traffic, which, as always, is light and easy and horrific, when he feels the first twinge. It’s like a pressure deep in his abdomen, and he dismisses it easily.

Then it happens again. It persists. He shifts, trying to alleviate the discomfort without disrupting the show. It subsides for a moment, and then it hits him, hard. He nearly doubles over, a sharp gasp escaping his mouth. “S-Sorry about that, listeners,” he says into the microphone, squirming in his seat now. Another bolt of the feeling races through him and he bites his lip, holding back his noises.

Horrified, he realizes that this feeling is pleasure, coursing through him and growing every minute. He’s getting hard and he has no idea why. “Anyway, listeners!” He says, blushing furiously. “Don’t forget that Thursday is our annu- _ah_ l- um, sorry, our annual- annual sunflower festival!”

There’s a tapping on the glass of the booth and when Kevin looks up, Daniel is standing there, looking concerned. Well, maybe concerned isn’t the right word. “Irritated that usual routines have been interrupted”, maybe. Kevin mouths a “sorry” at him and makes a hand gesture to say that everything is fine. And it is, it really is, if he ignores the growing arousal pooling in his stomach. “The sunflower festival will _be_ centered in dow- ngh- downtown Desert Bluffs!”

There’s a sharp spike of pleasure, like when someone presses against his prostate, and Kevin pitches forward, hands scrabbling at the wood of his desk. “Ah, and that’s ourrr _news!_ Stay tuned for- um- three hours of cheerful whistling echoing in the empty studio.” Another spike, and Kevin’s mouth falls open in a silent moan. He’s straining against his pants, and he has to get off the air, _now_. “Until next time, Desert Bluffs, _untilnexttime!”_

The “on air” light snaps off and he stands up quickly, grabbing a jacket and holding it in front of himself to hide his obvious erection. And none too soon, because he’s only just got the jacket when Daniel bursts in. “Kevin, what happened? You never falter on air. That’s not what happens.”

“I’m fine!” Kevin says, and his voice is higher than usual. “Fine, just fine. If you’ll excuse me-”

“You weren’t fine,” Daniel says, matter-of-factly. “You stalled, stammered, or otherwise stumbled over your words multiple times within the past ten minutes. Your previous average is once every two and a half hours. This is not regular-“

It’s building now, slow and intense, and Kevin is fidgeting, trying to get away from the maddening pleasure. Is he going to come? _Can_ he come from this? “Daniel, I can’t- oh, oh my _G-_ I’ve got to go! Bathroom!” He shoves Daniel aside and darts out, heading toward the bathrooms. Normally he’d feel bad about being so rude, but he’s so hard in his pants that it aches. Sparks of pleasure shoot up into his spine as he walks along the hall, and he wants to whimper. It feels _just_ like when someone is inside him, pressing against his prostate. He’s panting now and his legs are wobbling, and his cock feels heavy between his legs and he’s- oh- _oh-_

He drops to his knees, muffling a cry in his jacket as he comes, hard, right there in the hallway.

For a second, he stays there, holding the jacket up to hide his burning face. He just had an _orgasm_ , in his _radio station_ , without even being _touched_. What the actual heck?

“Kevin?” There are hands on his arms, pulling him to his feet. He lifts his face from the fabric to see Lauren with an expression that seems to boarder between worry and frustration. “What’s going on?”

He lets out a slow breath. There is come cooling quickly in his pants, but the sensations are gone now, so he’s not going to worry. There’s no reason to admit something so embarrassing to Lauren. “Nothing. I just felt a little ill, that’s all. It’s gone now.”

She looks skeptical, and Kevin smiles in a way he hopes is placating. “Don’t get sick,” she says at last. “You’re not scheduled to get sick.”

“I won’t!” he says cheerfully, edging toward the door.

* * *

 

He’s fine for awhile, and he thinks maybe whatever it was that happened is gone. A freak accident. Maybe a side-effect of not getting laid for a long time. He’s been all but celibate ever since Antonio showed up, with his numbers and his messy hair, and Kevin fell in love instantly. Everyone else just kind of…fell by the wayside.

And then, a few days later, he’s in a meeting. It’s going well- only one person has had to be sedated so far!

And then he feels the tingles.

They start low and slow, so soft that he thinks at first it’s just a breeze, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Goosebumps rise on his arms and he shivers. Is there a window open somewhere?

But soon he feels very, very hot. He can feel his face flushing, and he fans himself with his papers. The soft feeling gets stronger, coiling in the pit of his stomach, and his eyes widen with shock when he realizes it’s happening again. Pleasure, slow and sweet, running through him, making him shift uncomfortably.

Before it had been sharp, quick arousal, but this time it’s building, gradual. Fifteen minutes pass as Lauren chirps at the team, and Kevin is half-hard under the table. Whatever this feeling is, it’s taking its time and he almost wishes it would escalate how it did the last time. This slow push and pull is almost torture.

“Kevin?” Lauren asks, and Kevin realizes he’s been zoned out for awhile.

He snaps back, pressing his legs together. “Yeah?”

“What do you think?”

“Super,” he says, with no idea what he’s talking about. “Just swell.”

She beams at him, which must mean that he’s given the right answer, and goes back to chattering. A pulse of pleasure runs up Kevin’s spine and he involuntarily crumples the paper in his hand. An intern peers at him curiously and he gives them a smile, hoping that they can’t tell his nerves are on fire.

Another swell, and it rises so gentle and measured that Kevin can feel every bit of it seeping into his bones. His hips tilt up ever so slightly, and his hands brace against the chair.

“Hey, you okay, buddy?” Ted whispers to him, patting his hand.

The touch is electric and Kevin pulls his hand back. “Sorry!” he breathes, because Ted looks slightly taken aback. “I’m just-“

Oh, _god_. He can’t take it. He’s trying not to grind against the table, and failing. His head tips down, so that he looks like he’s looking at his notes. But instead he’s trying to measure his breathing, trying to ignore his cock hard in his pants, legs folded tightly.

Another deliberate push and he has to bite his lip to keep from moaning. He’s close. He’s so close. He can’t take it. He stands abruptly, knocking a few papers on the ground as he does so. “I have to slip out for a minute!” He squeaks. “Bathroom. Be right back!”

He nearly jogs to the bathroom, ducking inside and using the trashcan to jam the door handle. He doesn’t need anyone walking in right now. Then he gets into a stall and locks that behind him for good measure as well. Almost instantly, he’s gripped by the feeling, and he flattens his hands against the sides of the stall as his back arches. He can’t hold back his moaning now, bucking his hips against nothing. So good- _so good_ \- he’s been on edge for far too long, and he needs- needs-

Then he’s coming, going tense like he’s been struck by lightning, crying out. His legs won’t support him afterward and he drops down heavily onto the seat. His hands are still shaking and he’s still panting as he unzips his pants and tries to clean himself off the best he can.

Afterward he looks himself in the mirror and takes a few deep breaths. He’s composed. He’s professional. He did _not_ just have another orgasm at work.

All eyes swivel to him as he comes back into the room smiling, even though his legs are still a little wobbly. “Are you alright?” Lauren asks, one eyebrow raised. “We thought we heard a scream.”

“Oh, just saw a shadowy nightmare being in the mirror and it caught me off guard. You know how it is.”

They all nod, and there’s a few murmurs of “oh yeah, been there.”

Kevin settles back down, drawing flowers and fangs in the margins of his notes, feeling warm and loose and sated. He can’t help the small contented sigh that he lets out.

* * *

 

A week later he’s just drifting off to sleep, wishing his bed wasn’t so empty, when he feels a pang flash through him. He groans, draping an arm over his eyes. “No, not now, I’m trying to sleep.”

The feelings don’t listen. They hammer into him, making him gasp and arch, hands fisting in the sheets. “Unh, that’s- _oh smiling god_ , _right there, yes-_ " It’s pressing in all the right places, like it just wants to make him come as fast as possible. And he’s already partway there, _ooh_.

Well, as long as he’s feeling like this, and he really hasn’t had a good orgasm in this bed in a long time…

…What does it hurt to enjoy it?

He wraps his legs around a pillow, holding it close to him. Not thrusting, but just pressing up against it and feeling the pleasure climbing. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it’s Antonio here with him, hands sliding over his skin, using his mouth and fingers and cock to drive him wild.

His toes curl and he can almost see Antonio above him, eyes dark and promising. The pleasure twists and burns inside him and he throws his head back, groaning. “Ooh, _Antonio_ , just like that- oh, oh, please, I,- pl _ease_ -" His voice breaks and he’s almost there, feeling fucked out of his mind, even though it’s just him here writhing in his bed, sheets knotting around his feet.

“ _Antonio!”_ he gasps, gripping the pillow hard as his climax hits him like an oncoming train.

He lies back afterward, stretching luxuriously and humming happily. You know, maybe this wasn’t the _worst_ thing that could happen.

* * *

 

He comes to enjoy these little episodes. Most of the time they happen on his own time, and there’s nothing like bracing yourself over the couch at the end of a long day and feeling like you’re getting fucked hard.

There is one time where he comes on-air, and it’s thrilling and terrifying at the same time, and it’s one of the best orgasms he’s had in a year. The pleasure hits a peak when he’s giving an editorial, so he can dismiss all of the gasping and mewling as passion for his subject. He comes as he growls “and we owe it all to- to our- _to our SmilingGodyes!”_

He gets congratulated for the sheer passion in his segment.

“It’s a gift,” he says, lolling back in his chair and smoking a cigarette.

One time the tingles start as he’s just leaving work. He grins, wondering if it’s going to happen in the car again or if he can get home. But it escalates faster than he’s expecting, and he’s gritting his teeth and hurrying to the door before long.

He’s so focused that he runs into someone. Literally runs into someone. A certain perfect, intelligent, ink-and-paper-smelling someone. “Oh, Antonio!” he says, breathless because of his rushing, and because it’s Antonio, and because he just had another sweet bolt of pleasure run through him.

“Kevin,” Antonio says, blinking up at him with oak-brown eyes. His voice makes Kevin tremble. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“No problem,” Kevin says, knees unsteady. “It was my fault, really. How are- um, how are things in the accounting department?”

Antonio’s face lights up. Kevin could listen to him talk about numbers all day-  he loves how excited he gets when he talks about statistics and probability, profit margins and calculators. His voice washes over Kevin, as does another wave of _oh_.

“Oh, yes,” he breathes, and Antonio stops talking for a second. “Um, no, I was just-"  _Oh, that’s good_ \- “saying that yes, it’s amazing how you managed to find the missing decimal point. You know I’m, ah, very into numbers these days?”

“Yeah?” Antonio says, giving him a small smile. Kevin’s heart feels like it leaps in his chest, and something down lower throbs in solidarity. “Well there was this one case that might interest you, then. We were fifty dollars over budget, which was strange because no other department was. So we looked at the files-"

The combination of being here with Antonio, looking and listening to him, while that pressure and heat is burning him alive from the inside out- it’s maddening. He presses the side of his hand against his mouth, trying to hold back a desperate noise. Antonio touches his arm. “Kevin? You okay?”

Kevin leans into the touch. He wants to beg for more. He _wants_. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. Keep…keep go _ing_.” His voice breaks and he coughs to cover it up.

“Oh. If you’re sure. So I told the advertising department to check where their dollars went as far as the radio, and they said that…”

His voice fades into one constant undercurrent, taking the pleasure already running through his veins and lighting it on fire, and Kevin is so damn close, he wants to grab Antonio and kiss him and grind down-

“Anyway,” Antonio says, though Kevin can barely hear it over the pounding of his own heart, “it ended up being the resource department’s fault! It’s got a ton of implications, really interesting. If you want, I could tell you more over dinner. If you want, you know. We could-“

Kevin snaps back into himself. “I’m sorry, Antonio, I’ve got to go!” He pushes past him and nearly runs to his car. Once inside, he grabs the headrest and bucks his hips and comes with a shout.

Slumping down into the seat, he thinks that Antonio was saying something as he ran off. He didn’t catch it, though. Oh, well. It probably wasn’t important.

* * *

 

Kevin is in a _horrible_ mood.

Right before work, he’d had another of those lovely episodes. He’d been arching off his chair, circling his hips and feeling things get hotter and hotter and then, well…

It just stopped.

It hadn’t returned, and his own hand didn’t feel _nearly_ as good, not compared to that, and then he hadn’t had time to take care of it himself, so he’d had to settle for thinking about that awful woman down the street until it went away.

An intern stops by his desk, humming some annoying folk song. “Here’s your coffee, Mr. Free!”

He glances at the cup. “That’s iced coffee. I drink hot coffee.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry! Well, you know how it is! I’m sure it’s just as good.”

Without looking away he reaches up and grabs the intern by their collar, hauling them down. “Try again,” he says, calm and level and dangerous. “And this time if you don’t get it right, I'm going to  _creatively_ rearrange the placement of your limbs, because they're so drab and boring and  _not helping my mood."_

The intern yelps and backs out of the studio so quickly that they nearly trip over their own feet. Kevin turns back to his notes and hears a disapproving beep behind him. “Kevin,” Daniel says, “you don’t threaten interns. That’s our job.”

Kevin sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m just out of sorts today.”

“What’s the error?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I’d advise you to tell me, or we might have to motivate you externally again.”

Kevin rubs the side of his neck, where there are still burn marks from the last time he was “externally motivated”. He really doesn’t look forward to that again- it takes him days to remember who he is. He considers lying, but he’s pretty sure Daniel has a polygraph built in somewhere. “I’m just…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m _really_ sexually frustrated, okay? I need to get laid, like, _right now_. You know how it is, am I right?”

Daniel doesn’t answer and when Kevin turns around, he freezes. Because standing next to Daniel, blushing furiously, is Antonio. “Oh, ah, Antonio! What, um, brings you here?”

“Just some figures about the city budget,” he says, not meeting Kevin’s eyes. “Thought you might want them for your show. I’ll just…leave them with Daniel. Bye.”

Kevin opens his mouth to tell him not to leave, but he’s already gone. He drops his forehead against his desk, wishing he could just fly up into the sun and disappear. “Daniel, how long was he standing there?”

“Shortly after I walked up.”

He considers hiding under his desk and never coming out.

* * *

 

Things happen. Life goes on. Antonio gets into a scrap with a few of Desert Bluff’s Tax Collectors (close cousins to Night Vale’s Librarians, Kevin’s been told). He’s left to bleed out on stacks of invoices and Kevin can’t even cry on the radio.

Then Antonio is alright, and Kevin _does_ cry, with happiness. Strex approves of the level of devotion to being happy. And when Kevin meets Antonio in the Burger King parking lot, he holds his hand and smiles at him. Everything is wonderful.

It _isn’t_ wonderful when they’re on their third date.

Everything is going so well, Kevin is thinking about mentioning that he picked up the Strex-official copulation forms. But that might be too forward. Antonio is telling him a funny story about a missing receipt, and Kevin is watching him dreamily.

And then he feels it.

His face drains of color almost instantly, because this time it’s coming on fast and deep, the sensations filling him. He’s getting hard so quickly, he thinks this might be a new record.

“Kevin?” Antonio asks gently, from across the table. “You alright?”

“Fine!” he says, hands fisting in the tablecloth as pleasure spikes up into his stomach.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Antonio, I’m- _ooh_ \- sorry, sorry! I’m fine. Just- _ah_ \- peachy.”

Antonio fixes him with a stern look. “Something is wrong. I can tell. What’s going on?”

Kevin is touched that Antonio can tell, but it also feels like he’s being _touched_ in _other_ ways. “Just- a little stomach ache, maybe?”

“Oh. Do you want to leave? I can drive you home.”

“Don’t- mmhm- don’t be absurd, our food isn’t even here ye- yet.”

Antonio leans over and covers Kevin’s hand with his. “You’re obviously distressed. I don’t you to feel like-"

He’s cut off when Kevin jerks his hand away. He wants Antonio to touch him, he really does, but he can’t _stand it_ on top of this. He can feel himself getting close, far earlier than usual, and he needs to go before this happens right here at the table.

But then there’s a _really good_ pulse and Kevin realizes that oh no, this _is_ happening right now, no no _nonono-_

He gasps, head tilting back as he comes, toes curling in his shoes.

Then shame, overwhelming shame as he stares pointedly at the ceiling. He can’t believe he just did that. Maybe Antonio didn’t notice.

“Kevin, did you just…?” No such luck.

Antonio is gaping at him, mouth open, and Kevin wants to curl up in a ball and die. “I’m sorry, it’s just a- it’s a thing that happens sometimes, and I can’t control it, and I didn’t think it would happen now because it usually doesn’t happen at night but it did and I didn’t have time to slip away I’m _so_ sorry-"

“Hey,” Antonio’s hand covers his again and this time Kevin doesn’t pull away. “I’m not mad or anything. Just caught off guard. It’s…a medical condition?”

Kevin shakes his head, cheeks still burning. “I looked up the, um, symptoms. The only thing it would be is Wild Armadillo Disease but I haven’t been developing scales so it’s not that.”

“So it’s…what, psychological?”

“I don’t know. It just happens. And sometime it’s, um. Nice. Very nice. But other times, it happens- like here. Or…”

“On air,” Antonio says, his eyes going wide. “I thought you sound off sometimes.”

“You…listen to my show?” Kevin asks, tucking a bit of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah. Every time you’re on.”

Kevin can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face, and he grips Antonio’s hand a little tighter.

* * *

 

Antonio bursts into the living room, waving a piece of paper and looking triumphant. “Kevin! I think I know what’s happening to you!”

“Hm?” Kevin asks, still absorbed in his Jodi Picoult book.

“Manipulation of variables!”

“Huh?”

“I know why you have your- er, episodes. At least I think I know why.”

“Really?” Kevin sets down his book. “Why?”

“Manipulation of variables!” Antonio repeats, beaming. “To keep the sides equal, what is done to one has to be done to the other!”

“…What?”

“Okay, okay, look.” He pulls out a whiteboard- why did he have that on him?- and writes down:

a   b

“Now, a is you. And your double is b.”

“My double? The one from the sandstorm?”

“Yes, him. Now, when you two met, something was forged between you.” And he adds:

a = b

“And there are a lot of variables that just don’t matter. For some reason, these have been invalid. So, say, your double stubs his toe. It’s an empty variable.”

1 x a = b x 1

“Nothing changes on your end. But somehow, this particular stimulus was given validity. So say your double is getting intimate with someone.”

a = b + 2

“To keep the sides even- to keep _you two_ even- what is done to one side, must be done to the other.”

2 + a = b + 2

“Do you get it?”

Kevin sits up and grabs the whiteboard. “Do you mean,” he says incredulously, “that every time this happens- it’s _my double having sex_?”

“I’m pretty sure, yes.”

Kevin stares at the board for a second. Words escape him. He thinks about those days when he was barely able to leave the house, being seized by his episodes three times in one day. _Wow. My double’s been busy._

“Antonio,” he asks slowly. “Do you think that if the stimulus was on _my_ end, my double would feel it?”

Antonio thinks for a minute, then nods. “To keep the equation equal, relevant variables on _either_ end must be matched.”

Kevin looks back down at the board, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Huh.”

* * *

 

Kevin throws open the door to Antonio’s office. “Hey. You’re needed.”

Antonio gives a few parting words to his colleagues and follows Kevin out, to the room they have reserved for occasions like this. Strex has been very accommodating. A radio sits on a table and Kevin turns it up. The dark, rich voice of the Night Vale radio host washes over them. “That’s the _thing_ about storybook villains or, you know, giant evil corporations. People will always fight against them, and they will _never win._ ”

Kevin is already pulling his clothes off and Antonio hurries to follow, cupping Kevin’s cock, working it to hardness.

The voice on the radio falters. “Um. But like I was saying, it’s important that we- oh- that we as a society- _nngh.”_

Antonio sits back on a nearby chair and Kevin straddles him, taking him deep in one smooth motion. His gasp is echoed by the radio a few moments later. “L-Listeners! Sorry about th-that, just some technical difficulties.” Kevin starts rocking his hips, dropping himself down on his boyfriend, and the mewl that comes over the airwaves is sweet indeed. “Oh, I- ahem. We as a- as a s-society- need to _ah, fight!_ Against- against vill _ian_ s- who will- ah, ah, _fff-_ who only seek to- _Oh sweet void.”_

Antonio angles his hips and finds Kevin’s prostate. His boyfriend cries out simultaneously with the radio voice, which is now reduced to half-words, broken off moans, and incoherent panting.

“Don’t you think,” Antonio says, between kissing Kevin, “that he’ll figure out what’s going on? Realize the connection?”

Kevin grins at him with too many teeth. “Oh, I look forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then it turned into an all-out passive-agressive sex war. 
> 
> There may be a follow-up fic to this.
> 
> You know the drill. My WTNV fic blog is [here](http://floating-cats.tumblr.com). I post sneak peeks, talk about upcoming fics, cry about episodes, and reblog a ton of fanart. Stop by and say hello. Beats going to the picnic.


End file.
